


Absolution

by MaxWrite



Series: The That James Series [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, RPF, Twincest, mentions of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-09
Updated: 2005-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James's shrink finally meets his lover and the three of them explore James's need for physical pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said.

“Oh, it’s not that big a deal.”

I looked at James in disbelief. He ignored me, continued flipping through the months-old _Cosmo_ he’d found in the pile.

“Not that big a deal?” I said. I leaned over and whispered, “We are about to reveal to another human being that we’re lovers.”

“She’s not going to tell anybody, she’s a professional.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You know, sometimes I think maybe she already knows. She’s a sharp cookie, and it isn’t _impossible_ to figure it out from everything I’ve told her over the years.”

“It isn’t?”

“I don’t think so.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. The secretaries looked away as I met their eyes. I felt like they knew. James had told his psychiatrist he’d be bringing his lover along today. What if she’d mentioned it to some of her coworkers? What if they’d seen me arrive with him, me and no one else, and put two and two together? What if they left work and told their friends and the media got wind and …

“James,” said an attractive woman in her early to mid-thirties as she approached us. Her smile was broad and toothy, warm and contagious; I felt compelled to smile at her before she’d even looked at me.

“Hey, doc,” said James casually. “Erm, this is -”

“Your twin, Oliver! Hello!” she said, extending her hand to me, beaming up at me. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

“Same here,” I said, shaking her hand.

“But James,” she went on, “I thought you said you were bringing your boyfriend today.”

“Um, I did, yeah. And, well …” James glanced at me, then looked back down at her. “Can we talk about it in your office?”

“Sure,” she said, a little confused, looking from him to me, then back. Her expression changed slightly and she looked at me again. Her expressions changed a lot, and she looked back at James. Her warm smile was gone completely now, replaced by what I think was slight shock. I could see the wheels turning behind her dark, liquid eyes. Then the slightest hint of amusement crossed her face, and she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Follow me, gentlemen,” she said, and walked ahead to open her office door for us.

I followed James inside and looked around as I took a seat with him on the couch. On the desk was a picture of two black cats curled up together, their golden eyes wide and glowing, and one had a small patch of white on its neck. There were small, ornate candle holders in little clusters all over the room, and a long silver incense burner, which looked like an abstract shoe horn, sat on a shelf across from me. Muted, organic shades of blue, green and purple kept popping up all over; the candles, the pictures on her walls, the mossy green corduroy jacket hanging on the coat rack next to the door, her eggplant-coloured sweater, her cobalt blue fingernails.

She was nodding and smiling to herself as she closed her door and sat in her armchair across from us.

“Humph,” she said. James fidgeted. She picked up James’s file from the coffee table and began flipping through it, nodding and smiling even more. “Humph,” she said again. I saw James wince out of the corner of my eye.

 _“What?”_ he asked her impatiently.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied in an airy, sing-songy voice. “I’m just going over old notes from previous sessions.”

“Looking for clues you missed?”

“Mm-hm … your parents are friends … same schools … Martyn is your father’s name.”

“It’s also Oliver’s middle name.”

“Ah. Clever boy. But you weren’t really hiding it from me. Not completely. I mean, you basically laid it all out for me over time, didn’t you?”

“You never suspected?”

“No. Why would I jump to that conclusion, unless you’d said something really obvious?”

“I didn’t ever?”

“Nope. Not that I can see.”

“Always thought I did. After every session, in fact.”

“Well, that’s just your paranoia talking. How is it these days, by the way?”

James shrugged. “Same as usual, I think.”

“Mm,” she nodded. Then she looked over at me. I gave her a nervous smile. “So, Oliver, I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

“James has been disgustingly happy these past few months.”

“I know. Weird, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. And you’re the reason.”

I blushed and lowered my eyes. “Yeah, well ...”

“Don’t be modest.”

“He’s always like that,” said James. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

“It’s not just that,” I said. “I’m also sort of embarrassed.”

“No need for that,” she said. “No shame in being a good lover.”

“Yeah, but … to my brother?”

“Yes, well,” she sighed, dropping James’s file onto the table and picking up a notebook and a pen, “that is somewhat outside the norm.”

 _“Somewhat?”_

“It’s not as uncommon as you think.”

“But still pretty uncommon, I’ll bet.”

“Well, yes. And the, um, S & M …”

I blushed even more. My cheeks were on fire.

“It's what’s been keeping James so happy.”

“Yeah,” I said to my lap.

“I always thought all he really needed was a good smack.”

I glanced at James, who glanced at me at the same time. He had a mischievous, satisfied little grin on his face, with just a hint of lustful hunger in his eyes. He looked away first, biting his bottom lip and crossing his legs, and I thought he might be trying to conceal a burgeoning erection.

“I guess I did,” he said, and I recognized his tone of voice; he was, indeed, horny.

“Still beating the tar out of you, then, is he?”

“Yes,” answered James with barely controlled joy. He had the biggest, toothiest grin on his face. “Just the other day, we had this seriously hot encounter in the shower -”

“James,” I stopped him, alarmed.

“What?” he asked innocently. “She’s already heard everything. She even knows about that mole you have on your -”

 _“James!”_

“If Oliver is uncomfortable discussing more intimate details, we shouldn’t discuss them,” she said.

“Well, he shouldn’t be. He ought to be proud. He’s incredible.”

He was eyeing me again, and this time, she noticed his hungry gaze.

“Down, boy,” she said. “I just had that couch Scotchguarded.”

“He made me bleed, you know,” he went on with almost child-like enthusiasm while I covered my eyes in embarrassment. “In the shower. He backhanded me across the face, and my lip started bleeding. I just …” He paused and took a deep, shaky breath. “… I just don’t understand why it turns me on so much.”

“Nor do I, actually,” I said. “I mean, it’s fun and all, but … well, for example, during the shower encounter, he started to cry -”

“Tears – of – _joy,_ Ol. _Joy._ I told you that.”

“I know, but I just felt so guilty for making him cry. I mean, actually, honestly _cry._ He never cries! And, quite frankly, I’m not entirely convinced those tears were completely joyous.”

“What? Why must you always read into things? Why must you go looking for problems?”

“Because there’s always something to read. There are always problems to be found.”

“Are not.”

“Are to.”

“Are not.”

“Are -”

“Boys, boys,” she interrupted. We stopped bickering and looked at her. “I think you both have a point. Oliver, why do you think you’re never content?”

“I – what? Who says I’m never content?”

“You admit you always look for problems. Someone who does that is clearly always waiting for the other shoe to drop, no?”

“Well -”

“There is no other shoe,” said James impatiently. “Everything’s perfect. We’re happy. We are insanely happy together.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “But ‘perfect’? Really? Nothing’s ever perfect, James.”

“This is,” insisted James stubbornly. She regarded him with mild curiosity.

“Is Oliver right, James?”

“About what?”

“About there being more to those tears than you’re letting on?”

“Millionth time: _no.”_

“I only ask because you seem awfully insistent that everything’s perfect between you. ‘Perfect’ doesn’t exist.”

“Well, I didn’t mean _perfect,_ exactly -”

“But that’s what you said. Tell me, what do you feel when he beats you?”

“I dunno. It feels … good. It’s like this intense release or something.”

“What about your emotions? Not your arousal. Not the physicality of it. What do you _feel?”_

I watched him as he considered his answer. He’s never been very good at verbalising his emotions. I was more than a little curious about what his answer would be. It’s something I’d been wondering more and more lately.

 

He unlocked the door with the key I’d cut for him and slipped inside. He waved silently to me, seeing that I was on the phone. I waved back. He took off his shoes and went straight for the kitchen. I followed.

His thick, dark hair concealed most of the upper half of his face as he rummaged around in the shopping bag he’d set on the counter.

“Yeah,” I said to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I know.”

James pulled out a bottle of my favourite white wine and did his very best Vanna White impression, displaying it like a prize on a game show.

“Elliot … Elliot, calm down, they can’t kill your character, he’s already dead …”

Fancy cheese and crackers came out next.

“Yes … yes, I know that, but … they are not kicking you off the show. If anything, this is some bizarre story arc that – what? … No, I don’t know anything you don’t!”

James waved a long loaf of crusty bread in my face along with a couple of tins of caviar.

“Your character’s insanely popular, they’re not about to fire you. Not unless you’ve done something really stupid. You didn’t, did you? … I’m only checking – James, stop that!”

He was doing something obscene with that long loaf of bread.

“Yeah, my brother’s here … he just … really … likes … bread. Listen, I gotta run. Stop worrying, you’re safe, they love you.”

I hung up and snatched the bread away from James. I set it down and grabbed him, pulled him close and kissed him hard, my hands finding his waist inside his leather jacket. He shrugged the jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, and wrapped his arms about my neck. He’d showered just before coming over. I could still smell the light, clean scents of his soap and shampoo and aftershave.

He was begging without saying a word; grinding against me, his hands unable to keep still. It wasn’t long before he was whimpering into my mouth and tugging at my shirt, his hardness pressing into my thigh. I broke the kiss, and he immediately went for my mouth again, but I playfully pulled away.

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” I said.

“I’m always hungry for you.”

“I’ve noticed.”

I licked two of my fingers and slid my hand down the back of his jeans. I sought out his opening and forced my fingers in. He gasped, widened his stance and rocked his hips. His eyelids fluttered shut for just a moment and his eyes threatened to roll up into his head.

“What?” he asked with a smirk. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“Can’t help it. You’re gorgeous, you know.” And he was. His pupils were dilated with lust and his cheeks had an attractive rosy blush to them.

He looked away bashfully and said, “Oh, shut up.”

I took hold of his chin and turned his face back. He smiled nervously and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Would you like some wine?” I asked.

“Yes, please,” he answered quickly. I took my fingers out of him and wiped them on my jeans.

“Pop it open, would you, babe?” I said as I got us some glasses. He poured as I held the glasses before him. Then he set the bottle down and took a glass from me. I stood very near to him, close enough to smell him again.

“To us,” he murmured. “To this wonderfully taboo little relationship we have here.” His eyes seemed to twinkle a bit as he said that.

“And to you,” I added. “I love you, Jamie.”

“I love you too,” he said quietly, looking away again until he heard my glass clink against his. He drained his in one gulp.

“Thirsty, are you?” I said as I poured him another glass.

“No, just, um … tense all of a sudden.”

“Wanna go upstairs?” I whispered into his ear. “Work out some of that tension, yeah?”

“Yes, please,” he said breathily.

He grabbed the wine bottle and quickly downed his second glass as I guided him from the kitchen.

 

“You’ve started drinking excessively again?”

“No, I haven’t started drinking excessively again … _mother,”_ said James in a mocking tone.

“Humph,” she grunted and made a note in her book. “What did you make of this behaviour, Oliver?”

“Er, I found it … troublesome.”

“Well, there’s a shocker,” muttered James. “Is there anything you don’t find troublesome?”

“But, well,” I continued, ignoring him, “I kind of already know why he was doing it. I think.”

“Oh?” she said. “Why’s that?”

“… Because of me.”

 

James sipped his third glass as he glanced round my room, frowning.

“Where’s my collar?” he asked.

“It’s hiding,” I said, taking him in my arms from behind. “I want your neck to stay bare tonight.”

“Oh.” I could practically hear his pout. Then he perked up a bit. “Why? Are you planning on doing a lot of biting?”

“Nope.”

“Ooh, choking, then?”

“No,” I laughed, spinning him to face me. “I’m planning on doing a lot of kissing and nibbling.”

“Oh … well,” he said as I proceeded to kiss his neck, “nibbling is like biting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just put your wine down and undress for me.”

I let him go and went to unmake my bed. I turned back to him just in time to see him downing the last of his third glass.

He set the empty glass down and tossed his hair. I thought he was being all sexy and cute, but then realized he was only trying to clear the alcohol haze from his brain. He began with his shirt, pulling it up over his head, stretching his already long body. His dark red nipples seemed to stare out at me from his pale ivory chest. His socks went next, then he was opening his jeans and sliding them slowly down. It never gets old, him revealing that ample bulge harnessed inside those tight little boxer briefs.

“Leave those on for now,” I said, stopping him from removing his underwear. I went back to him and embraced him again. His body yielded to me immediately, his torso curving inward, pressing his front against me as my hands found his lower back. It’s a submissive posture, one of the many ways he seems to hand over control, like the sweet way he looks at me with his face slightly lowered. They’re all different, subtle ways of saying the same thing; that he wants to be taken, that he likes being the bitch. In reality, he, as the submissive, has most, if not all, the control. And I’m sure he knows it.

I was kissing him and laying him down on the bed, tasting the tang of wine on his probing tongue, feeling his desperation in the way he opened his mouth and spread his legs wider than necessary, in the way he pushed up against me. I broke the kiss, and he, eyes closed, body still writhing, exhaled warm, sweet breath into my face with a soft sigh. He opened his big, brown eyes and whispered, “Beat me.”

“James, I -”

“Please?” It was so soft, it might simply have been an exhalation of breath rather than an actual word. “Make me hurt.” And my bottom lip was between his teeth. He sucked it for a moment, then let it go with a little groan.

“Not tonight, James.”

He frowned at me. “What?”

“Tonight,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his cheek, “I treat you like the perfect, beautiful creature you are.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I sat up and removed my shirt and tossed it aside. I lay back down and slithered down his body, planting tiny kisses as I went. I stopped at his chest and took one of his pebble-hard nipples in my mouth. He groaned softly as I rolled it gently between my teeth. He pushed upwards against me, and I knew he wanted me to bite down harder, but I wouldn’t. I continued down his body till my face was level with his crotch, and I nuzzled his warm hardness overtop of his underwear. There was a small wet spot on the dark heather blue material, just under the white waistband where he was no doubt leaking like a faucet. I put my nose to it, sniffed at it, then licked it a bit, pressing against the head of his cock as I did so.

A tiny whimper issued from above. I looked up. He was watching me, a mild look of distress on his face. My gentleness was driving him mad, it wasn’t what he’d grown accustomed to. I smiled at his utter helplessness. I hooked my fingers over his waistband and pulled down, revealing, inch by inch, his thick, pink prick. I pulled the boxer briefs all the way off so he could spread his legs if he wanted. And he did, of course.

I picked it up, gripped his throbbing length, held it upright. I leaned in and, with the tip of my tongue, traced the winding path of a vein from the head to the base and back up again. He was starting to squirm. I kissed my way down to his pubic hair, and I buried my nose in it, inhaled deeply, took in that slightly musky, slightly floral scent that’s unique to James and me.

He was having none of my teasing, however. He gripped my hair and pulled my head up. With his other hand, he took hold of his cock, forced the head into my mouth and slowly pushed my head down till he hit the back of my throat. Well, if he was that eager, I wasn’t about to deny him. I let him hold onto my head and thrust into my mouth. And I watched him. He stared back for a while, but soon his head fell back onto the pillow and his eyes closed. They didn’t open again the entire time.

He quickened his pace. The sound of his breathing was the only sound he made. It was like when we were teenagers, fucking hard and fast in the dead of night, terrified of being caught. He kept his hands where they were, on either side of my head. They didn’t roam about his body, as they normally do, pinching his own nipples and caressing his own hips. He didn’t let me suck on him, he didn’t let me move. He fucked my mouth the entire time, his fingers curled tightly round clumps of my hair.

He didn’t warn me, but he didn’t need to. I could tell from the way his thrusts died away and by his body’s little spastic shudder that he was about to come. He burst in my mouth, exploding as though I’d just bitten into the juiciest fruit. I let it collect under my tongue as his cock spasmed in my mouth’s grip, listening to his breath traveling quickly and shakily through his nose.

His hands fell away, lay limply at his sides. He unclenched his teeth, opened his mouth and panted. He turned his face to the side and stared off at nothing. I got up on my knees, towered above him, finally getting his attention. He stared up at me and watched as I unbuttoned my pants and took my dick out. I lowered my pants and underwear a little, only enough so they wouldn’t cover my crotch anymore. I lowered myself to my elbows then, an elbow on either side of his body, put my lips close to his belly and let his cum dribble bit by bit from between my pursed lips. I moved up his body, leaving a pearly liquid path up the center of his torso. As I neared his head, he turned his face upward, toward the wall behind him, leaving the way clear for me to give his neck the same treatment. I laid a path up along it, and it fell silkily down either side in tiny little rivers. I extended my path up under his chin, then over it and to his mouth. He opened up, letting his warm semen dribble into his mouth. He stuck his tongue out, and I watched his cum glide down it to the back of his throat. I finally lowered my mouth to his, sharing the rest with him, laying directly on him, moistening my own body with the path I’d left behind.

He escalated the intensity quickly, kissing roughly and groping feverishly, biting my lips, bucking up against me, even growling a bit. He was trying to force me along, trying to draw out the dominant creature that lives, well hidden, inside me. He tried. But I wouldn’t let it happen. He clawed at me too hard, and I took his hands away gently, interlocking my fingers with his. His kiss became ravenous and wet and wide and snarling; I took my mouth away, and didn’t return till his nipping ceased and his head was back on the pillow. He pushed against me, lifting up off the bed for a second, and I whispered, with patience and love, “Down … down, Jamie. Down, baby.” My lips glided along his cheek, down to his neck as I spoke softly to him, trying to tame that self-loathing, angry thing that lives, not so well hidden, inside him, that was begging me to hurt it.

I stared down at him, tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow it. He closed his eyes, seemed to be concentrating on my gentle grinding, on the hardness that was pressing into him. He rubbed back, turning his face away, his brow furrowed.

 

“What was going through your head at that point?”

Her soft, dark eyes were doing the same thing mine had done, were trying to catch his gaze, but he insisted on looking anywhere and everywhere else, finally settling on a spot just to the left of his own lap. She waited patiently, and I understood instinctively that there was to be no talking until James answered the question.

He laughed a bitter little laugh and said, “Certainly, you know the answer to that one, doc.”

“Maybe. I’d like to hear it straight from you, though. I'd like to know if you've noticed your own patterns.”

“Like what?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes. “That I hate myself? That affection freaks me out, that I need a little punishment to balance it? That it’s easier for me to accept a slap in the face than a kiss on the cheek? Is that what you mean?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Humph. Nope. Hadn’t noticed.”

I snorted involuntarily as I stifled a laugh. They both looked at me.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said timidly. “Sometimes he’s funny.”

He smiled a little at that. “Glad my neuroses could amuse.”

We glanced at each other, shared a look that wasn’t sexual, but private nonetheless. The kind of looks we’d give each other at the dinner table when we were younger, a silent exchanging of secrets and jokes that our parents wouldn't get.

We looked away simultaneously. The look had been just long enough to convey everything, to reassure us both that we were still connected. Just perfect.

She noticed our little exchange and made a note. “So,” she said. “What happened next?”

James snorted. “What d’you think happened next?”

 

Miscommunications don’t often happen when we make love. We can sense what the other needs or wants. It’s a twin bond thing, I guess. But sometimes, wishful thinking gets in the way.

He said my name. The softest little utterance: “Ollie.” I was whispering his name too, and telling him I love him, telling him how beautiful he is, telling him how badly I want him.

“Then why won’t you just fuck me?” he muttered under his breath. And that’s when I realised his tiny utterance hadn’t been out of passion. That look on his face wasn’t desire. It was emotional turmoil. Suddenly, it was like he was suffocating, drowning. In me.

I raised up on my elbows.

“What’s the matter with you tonight?” he asked, frowning at nothing in particular.

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

“You’re reverting.”

“I’m what?” he asked, looking at me.

“You’re going back to the way you were. The drinking -”

“I had three glasses -”

“In five minutes!”

“Get off me!” he growled and pushed me away. He sat up and hugged his ribcage. I sat up as well.

“You can barely look at me,” I said accusingly.

“Humph. Seems to me like you’re the one who’s reverting.”

“Why, because I wanted to have regular, plain old sex for once?”

“You’re being all … smothery again.”

I stared at his profile in silence for a moment. “I never changed, James,” I finally said, my voice quiet. “I smack you around ‘cause you seem to enjoy it so much, but I never changed. I still need to be near you. I’m the same person you’ve always run away from.”

He winced a little at that. When he spoke, his voice was as subdued as mine. “Well, I didn’t change either. If I’ve been more affectionate, it’s ‘cause -”

“- my treating you like dirt makes it okay, somehow, for you to be so,” I said. “I don’t understand.”

He shrugged, still hugging himself as though he was cold. “I don’t entirely either. I can’t … I can’t deal with you being like this.”

“Like what? Nice?”

He laughed sadly and nodded. “Yeah. That.”

“Well, that’s really sad. ‘Cause you deserve it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut then and bit his lip. “I have to go,” he said suddenly and was out of bed before I could stop him.

“No, James …” I got up and tucked myself back into my pants. “James, wait -”

“I think it’s best that I just leave,” he muttered, going for his pile of clothing on the floor. I stopped him. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him upright.

“Let me go,” he begged. It was a quiet, weak little plea. He looked tired. He looked so sad.

“I won’t let you leave,” I insisted, wrapping my arms round his waist, quite easily keeping him from getting away. He wasn't struggling very hard anyway. “There’s no reason to.”

“Ollie -”

“Jamie -”

“Don’t call me that!” he snapped, looking me square in the eye for a moment, then looking away, seemingly embarrassed at his own outburst.

“What, I can only call you that when I’m hurting you?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Ah,” I nodded. “Why is that? I’ve always wondered.” He was no longer trying to push away from me. He’d relaxed a bit and was actually leaning against me now, twirling a lock of my hair, staring intently at it instead of into my eyes. “Is it because it’s what I used to call you? When we were in our teens and fucking like rabbits, and things were good between us? Is that why? Does it hurt you to remember?”

His face crumpled a bit and his eyes started to well up. He shut them tightly and shook his head. “Why won’t you just let me go?”

He looked so tortured. All I could think to do was kiss him, so I did, gave him the softest, most nurturing kiss I could. He only protested for a moment, only turned away once. But soon his hands were on me again and he was kissing back. Something wet and salty met our lips, and I knew his tears had spilled over.

He was pushing at my waistband and pulling me down to the bed at the same time. We toppled over, me landing on top. I tried to shimmy out of my pants, but I didn’t quite make it. Didn’t matter. They weren’t really in the way.

He opened the bedside table drawer with his foot and I got the lubricant out while he panted and whined for me to hurry. He raised his legs for me. I didn’t hesitate. I plunged into him. How he can be so accommodating, and yet so tight is a mystery to me. It’s like he opens up for me and then slowly tightens around me, clenching intermittently, as though trying to cling to me, as though he doesn't ever want to let go.

My arms were fully extended, me in a push-up position, hovering above him, not letting him lower his legs an inch, determined that his feet should remain above his head, pointed toward the back wall, his perfect arse almost in the air as I pummeled him. His tears hadn’t quite stopped. I lowered myself to him and began to kiss them away with the softest brushings of my lips, while I gave him the hardest, roughest fucking of his life.

“Is this hard enough for you?” I asked him, panting practically into his mouth. “Is this violent enough for you, baby?”

His reply was a loud, throaty cry, and he took hold of his own ankles, pulled his legs even further back, bringing his arse up a bit higher to meet me so I could fuck harder, go deeper. It had a wonderful and intriguing effect on him; he looked directly into my eyes, and his own were ablaze. He seemed almost angry, but I knew what it actually was. It was determination. Suddenly, he didn’t care to be weak anymore. Suddenly, he was fully aware of his power and possibly even believed that he was deserving of my love without needing to be punished first. He clenched his teeth, and I felt his muscles clamp down on me.

“Afraid to let me go?” I said.

“Yes,” he breathed, then louder, “God, yes!”

And I think he was. I think the threat of losing what we have became a little too real that day. I think it frightened him. It certainly frightened me.

“Stop,” he said suddenly. “Stop, Ollie.”

I stopped moving and asked, “What? Am I hurting you?” and immediately realized how silly that question was. He gave me an appropriately amused look.

“Of course not. No, I just … want to get on top.”

“Oh,” I said with a little grin. “All right, then.”

We managed to roll over without dislodging my cock from inside him. To my surprise, he didn’t sit up right away and start riding. He remained face to face with me. He seemed to be examining my features, and soon his finger was tracing my eyebrows and my mouth and sliding down my nose as he stared at me.

“I love you,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll try. I’ll try -”

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered back, stroking his hair. “I’ll help you. Just don’t leave me.”

That hit him hard for some reason. He doesn’t like it when I show that side of myself. He considers it weak, I know he does. He grimaced and looked away, but I quickly turned his face back and gently thrust up into him. He sighed and his eyes glazed over with pleasure.

“Please don’t go. I can’t go through that again.”

I pumped into him again, with the same results.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, Jamie. Just ride me. Go on.”

He kissed me once, then sat up tall and proud, inhaling deeply and puffing out his chest a bit. He began to move, and far from the harsh, quick, detached James that had threatened to come out earlier, he was slow and passionate, and I could _feel_ him, feel his psyche or whatever you call it, in my head, in my heart. When he finally looked away from me, I could still sense him, still feel our connection. I reached out to touch him, my hand grazing his once again stiff prick, which was bobbing at me in the most tantalising way.

He changed his rhythm suddenly, his hips now making little circles, his face turned downward and to his left, his eyes closed in concentration. Words I couldn’t quite hear escaped between his fat, dark pink lips, dancing amidst his ragged breaths. I believe I heard something to the effect of “Yeah. Oh. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Or something like that. His tongue made an appearance, gliding deliciously along his upper lip and continuing round to his bottom, then back up to rest for a moment in the center of the upper before slipping back inside. I swallowed hard.

“Touch me,” he whispered. He groped for my hand without opening his eyes. He found it without much trouble and laid it on his cock. I took it away and licked it, thoroughly moistening it, then reapplied it and stroked him. His breathing quickened straight away.

I was finally able to slip my pants and underwear off with some persistent squirming and some help from my toes. I spread my legs a bit and thrust up into him on one of his downward movements, causing him to gasp and groan loudly. I continued to pump in and out, and he tilted his head back, leaning back a bit and placing his hands on his calves for support. He stopped moving and let me fuck him that way, hard and fast, as he grunted and moaned profanity at my ceiling. He squirmed ever so slightly, changing the position of his hips, thus changing the angle of my thrusting. He located an angle he liked quite a bit, and a low, quivering moan escaped him.

“Is that it, baby?” I asked over the sounds of our slapping skin and the creaking bed. “Am I hitting the right spot now?”

He continued to moan rather unintelligibly, the left side of his upper lip curling upward sexily. I smiled.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then. Oh, god, you pretty thing.”

He looked down at me then, right into my eyes as I continued to sing his praises. It was difficult for him, hearing those things. He's never taken compliments well, especially not from me. That's what had caused his earlier tension, I know that. But he didn’t look away this time.

“You perfect – sweet – gorgeous – _ungh?”_ Each word was punctuated by a forceful thrust, finally dissolving into incoherent grunting. And as I began to lose control, he took the helm, as he always did. He feels confident when I’m on the brink of orgasm and incapable of proper speech. I could see the control in his eyes and hear it when he spoke.

“That’s it, sweety,” he said in a soft, deep voice, caressing the hand that was stroking him. “Let it come. You’re going to blow a hole clean through the top of my head, aren’t you, love?”

I giggled at that. How could I not? I rewarded him by pounding him extra hard for making me laugh at such an odd moment.

“Ooh, _ooh!_ God, you’re so good to me. Gimmie your hand.” He found my other hand and held onto it. “Come together? Yeah?” he asked. I nodded. “D’you want my cum?”

“Yes, baby,” I breathed. “I want you all over me.”

“Then fuck me, honey. That’s it. Good and hard.”

I love it when he talks to me like that. I love it when he loses control. I love all the little signs of his orgasm; his tightening grip on my hand and on my cock, his almost pained expression, the way his cries become higher pitched and sound almost strangled, the way he exposes his neck to me, as though he wants me to kiss it or bite it.

The heat in my midsection reached its peak, boiling deep inside me, behind my groin and along my inner thighs, and finally erupting up into James, into my brother’s sweet, tight cavity. I felt his cock give a little jerk in my hand and, knowing he was about to come too, I closed my eyes and waited, waited to feel his warm, slippery love hit my stomach and chest and, especially, my face. I did want him all over me. I wanted to bathe in him.

He came remarkably hard this time round. I felt droplets land at my hairline, strands laying themselves across my body, over my face, in my open mouth. I licked my lips and savoured him, loving him so hard, it hurt.

I lost track of time. I forgot where I was completely until I felt him collapse on top of me, groaning intermittently into my neck.

“You okay?” I asked, embracing his trembling body.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, sitting up and looking at me. He giggled a bit at my appearance and proceeded to wipe my face clean with my sheets. Then his eyes moved up and focused on something behind me.

“What is it?” I asked and craned my neck to look. Gliding slowly down my wooden headboard was a thick dollop of James’s semen. I grinned at him. “Way to go, stud. You can get some impressive distance with that thing.”

He smiled, embarrassed. “It’s because of you. See what you do to me?”

“What, I made you explode all over my furniture like that?”

“Yes, of course.” His gaze turned sad all of a sudden. “I meant what I said, you know. I will try harder, I promise you -”

“Shh, shh, not now, Jamie,” I whispered reassuringly. “Not now. It’s okay. I believed you. You don’t have to say it again.”

He lowered his head to my neck again and nuzzled me like a child snuggling a security blanket. “I promise,” he whispered once more, barely audible now. I just held him, let him relax. He fell asleep just like that, on top of me, and I held on until he didn’t need me to anymore.

 

“Were you still there when Oliver woke up?”

James frowned at her. “Course I was. What kind of question is that?”

She gave him a knowing look.

“Oh, all right,” he said, huffily. “So, I’ve got a bit of a spotty history when it comes to these things. I stayed this time. I wasn’t freaked out. At least not by that point anyway.”

“You never did answer my question,” she said. “What do you feel when Oliver beats you?”

James sighed and was silent for a long while. I got the impression, just from his face, that he knew what to say now, but was hesitant to say it. Finally, he began, “I feel … like I’m being absolved of my sins. It’s like I become worthy of him when I let him do that. You know? Just for a while. I’ve been such a jerk over the years. And it’s all just ‘cause I don’t like myself very much, I guess. And he’s such an amazing man. I’m not anywhere near good enough for him, but for some reason, he wants me. Despite my being a prick, despite the fact our relationship must always remain a secret, he wants me. There’s so much I can’t give him, so many ways in which our life together can’t ever be normal, and he’s the most normal person I know, he deserves a ...” He paused and shook his head. “He wants me. I never understood that.”

“And you punished me for it,” I said. The words were out before I could stop them. I didn’t mean them to sound bitter, and I don’t think they did.

“I did, yeah. For years. You don’t know how guilty I feel about that. I did even while I was doing it.”

“And so,” she chimed in, “you let him hurt you, believing it’s an appropriate penance.”

“James, I can’t continue with it knowing that’s what it’s about.”

“Well, that’s not _only_ what it’s about. I enjoy the whole submissive thing.” He grinned. “I like wearing my collar and sitting at your feet. I like it when you pet me and tell me what a good boy I am -”

“Down, boy,” she said again, wearing a bit of a grin herself. She scribbled something in her notes. “Oliver, you’re feeling some trepidation?”

“Course I am. He thinks he deserves it.”

“Did you believe him when he said he’d try to change?”

“Yes,” I replied without missing a beat. “I believe him completely.” I looked over at him. He was watching me with the softest, warmest look in his eyes. He looked almost grateful. He reached for me, slid his hand along the couch toward me. I met him halfway, grasped his hand and squeezed. He seemed to sit up a little straighter as he looked away from me then. He looked proud, kind of like when he was riding me that day … except with clothes.

“You value your brother’s opinion very much, don’t you?” she asked him. James nodded bashfully at his lap.

“I didn’t know that,” I said, still watching him, still clutching his hand.

There was silence for the next few moments as James picked at a thread on his jeans, as I stared lovingly at him, understanding him more than I ever had in our lives, and as she observed us with serene curiosity, clearly fascinated by us, by our relationship.

The bell made me jump a little. I’m not sure who let go of whose hand, but I found mine back in my lap.

“That’s it, boys,” she said. “I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed this session.”

“Oh?” said James with a smirk as we all stood. “And why’s that?”

“Oh, no reason,” she said, a secret smile stretching her lips. “I’m just happy to finally meet your lover, that’s all. It’s been forever. I feel like I know you already, Oliver.”

“You probably do, knowing how much James must’ve been complaining about me.”

“You’ll be returning for another session, won’t you?”

I looked at James. He smiled at me.

“I’d like that,” he said. “Will you?”

“Well, I s’pose, yeah,” I said uncertainly.

“Wonderful! How’s next Thursday?” she asked, beaming.

“Er, fine, I think -”

“Excellent! We can really delve into your abandonment and perfectionist issues then! Again, wonderful meeting you, Oliver. See you next week!”

“Yea … what?”

James was shunting me out of the office before I could ask her to elaborate.

“What’d she mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing, meaningless shrink talk.”

“It was not! What's this perfectionist business?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me as we exited the building. “You didn’t think she’d pick up on that straight away? Ol, you might as well be wearing a sign.”

I glared at him, sidelong. “Whatever. I don't have abandonment issues, though.”

“Oh, _sure_ you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Do so.”

“Do not!”

“Do!”

“Don’t.”

END


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